


505

by ValDeCastille



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Another one-shot based on an Arctic Monkeys song, F/M, I just couldn't help myself, Modern Westeros, did I mentioned angst?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2019-12-30 05:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18309527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValDeCastille/pseuds/ValDeCastille
Summary: That damn building, that damn flat.No excuse is enough.Why are they apart is a mystery to him.





	505

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyoooooo :)
> 
> How are you, beautiful people? I hope you're in the mood for some angst cause things are about to get sad. 
> 
> I was feeling down, I was listening to [505 by the Arctic Monkeys](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qU9mHegkTc4) and this was born. Weirdly enough, it's one of the one-shots I've enjoyed writing the most so I do hope you like it. I highly recommend listening to the song cause it gives the one-shot the perfect vibe!!! A little AM never hurt nobody. *blows kiss*
> 
> Big shoutout to my bby Shawn because he is one of my fiercest supporters and the most hardcore AM fan I know. I love you, everywhere, my love. Thanks for everything. 
> 
> Beta credits go to the always awesome Dino. Don't know what my life would be without ya! <3<3 U the best!
> 
> I also want to thank my dearest Alice because her opinions and encouragement make my world and writing better. Te adoro, guapa!
> 
> Enough words. Enjoy the ride!

 

His feet ceased movement, halting him before the greying old building of red bricks he knew all too well. He couldn't count the times he had seen the same black door standing proudly, the same windows that now oxidised a precious shade of rust, the same cars tucked nicely along the same street.

The rain seemed neverending as it hadn't ceased since the early morning, but he didn't mind it anymore. He didn’t mind the mop of drenched hair nor the messy clothes that clung heavily over his body. He just couldn't come to care.

He missed her. That was the only fact he knew to be true. Anyone could approach and convince him gravity was not the force that kept his feet on the ground, or that the world was flat and he wouldn't argue. But no one could ever persuade him to believe his life was better without her.

He had asked himself a million times why they were apart? When had everything gone to shit?

Had it …gone to shit?

He quite frankly couldn’t remember. If anything, his mistake had been to give too much, to care too deeply, to love too profoundly.

Was that wrong?

Apparently, yes.

His thoughts snapped, ears picking up the press of firm steps over puddles, the rubbery screech of tires over wet asphalt, and the faint murmurs coming out from the various passers-by that musicalised his musings, obnoxiously reminding him that life without her still went on.

His fraying heart gave wild jumps that caused its rupture to widen when the thought of losing her forever made itself present; a persisting thought time after time. If the streams running down his cheeks were tears or rain, he couldn’t tell. He had dedicated so much of his time, too many months crying without cease that it became hard to believe he had any more tears left to shed.f

In such a moment, he could hardly note his phone’s eager attempt to get his attention as it vibrated within the pocket off his jeans. It would take too much of him to answer, and whoever it was unconcerned him as all his thoughts focused on a singular tenant living inside the old, red-brick building. Moreover, he knew the caller would not be who he wanted; it was not her who was ringing. It never was.

But he could see them, dashes of moonlit hair and violet orbs beneath his lids as he closed his eyes, trying to grasp the remnants of their last encounter. She had denied him the pleasure of one last smile, gifted him no final caress or kiss, and simply stated that there existed no more place for him in her life and then walked away. She had provided an explanation --excuses, really, to push him away-- but his mind, clouded in fog and ash, kept him from reaching it or understand it no longer. But he came to the realisation it was unimportant for no matter what defence she had given, it surely wasn’t good enough.

That distressful recollection mixed with a thousand others that were not tainted with sorrow, the thousand ones that still provided him with some consolation and much-needed warmth albeit not enough.

One particularly fresh memory filling his mind was the day he had taken her to Winter City for the first time. He drove her around his favourite spots like the ancient castle of Winterfell that still stood grandly and was every northerner's pride, his regular beer hall, the massive glass house that contained thousands of blooming winter roses, among some others. That day she had looped her hands around his neck and confessed the love she held for him, looking at him with something akin to adoration, and gifting him a smile she never had before.

He had kissed her hungrily, made love to her as if the world would fall apart the next morning, as he had never done to anyone else.

The earthy scent of wet ground filled his nostrils, the only good thing about the prevailing downpour. Despite himself, it brought back more pleasing memories of her, laughing between his arms; of their shared conversations while drinking tea, of snuggling on the couch as they devoured an entire series of horror films; all while the world outside clouded in mist, and the sound of raindrops against the windows accompanied them as they enjoyed each other within... the very same bloody building that now towered over him.

Its grand size, boring shape, and dull colour were starting to irritate him. He had never realised how ugly it was until now. How he had completely disregarded its foulness before eluded him. Everything about it was wrong, built after the war had come to an end and the military dictatorship had begun, enduring for forty years. It stood like a sore thumb amongst the other comelier constructions, arrogantly reminding everyone of the appalling circumstances that constituted its structure, and the loss of hope for those oppressed.

A car speeding far past the permitted limit, engine violently purring as it ran in a blur, spurted water from beneath its wheels, a muddy wave swallowing him whole as it zoomed by, disappearing behind a left turn. In any other circumstance, he would have cursed the driver, shouted a thing or two, but the event didn’t even register in his mind. He had been soaked in rainwater for hours anyway.

For over a year, he had not dared walk down her street in a futile attempt to recover from the loss he felt grip his bones. He had thought if he avoided all places that held any spark or essence of her whatsoever, that his heart would mend and that he would eventually forget her altogether.

It hadn’t worked, obviously.

He saw her everywhere he went regardless of the existence or the lack of a past connected to the glorious years they had spent together. She was in every corner, every sound, every scent, every person that walked his way.

A pang of pain thrashed his body, making his jaw clench and his hands fist. Why did it hurt so much?

Wasn't time supposed to be the cure for everything? A broken heart above all?

Why did people lie?

As far as he was concerned, with every day that passed his pain became more unbearable, recognising just how much she had woven herself into his life. How she had prepared the best coffee even if she didn't drink the bitter liquid herself, how she knew by heart all of his favourites songs, because they had become her favourites as well, how she would become disenchanted by her failed attempts to cook only to drag him into the kitchen so he could teach her, how she got along with his friends, how she would pick him up after finishing his lectures, how she would choose his outfits because he was a lost cause when it came to fashion, how she would interrupt his baths, stepping into the tub with nothing on but a smile, stealing his kisses and pleasing him in oh so many ways...

She fitted perfectly within his life.

No.

She was his life.

He was certain that his presence before the massive building was a rarity as he did nothing but stare at its fading red and at the one specific, rusting window on the fifth floor. Perhaps people would suspect something vile and brazen from the lonesome stranger standing in the rain, intently gazing at the large old construction, but as he turned to take in his surroundings, it dawned on him that people didn't give a toss about anyone but themselves. They drove past him without sparing him a glance, not even mothers holding their children's hands minded him.

 _They should_ , he thought. What if he was a criminal? A stalker or sex offender?

One said mother had even asked him for directions, giving him a kind smile as did the six-year-old boy with chubby cheeks that tugged at her coat. Evidently, nothing about him screamed ‘danger’ and that left him wondering whether he quite liked the fact or not.

Movement within the hazy glass of the left-most window in the fifth floor caught his eye, creamy-rose coloured curtains, shifting, drawn to the side.

She was home.

Anticipation --and fear-- prickled his stomach, dried his mouth, dissolved all sense off his tongue, leaving him thirsty as he kept his eyes on target. He hadn’t expected her this early. It was barely five o’clock on a Thursday and she always spent Thursday evenings at Missy’s, playing with her friend’s twin daughters. She cherished those weekly visits.

 _Things change_ , he understood. Most of her habits and routines must have changed after she sent him away, he reckoned. Wistfulness swathing him in an uncomfortable embrace.

The rain began to pick up pace, heavier it seemed as it smacked the concrete below. He could feel how the water flooded his trainers and his trousers tightened around his legs. Still, he didn't care.

He swallowed against the heavy lump that formed in his throat, but despite the water surrounding him, he felt completely dry. It was physically and mentally killing him. No matter how much water his skin absorbed beneath the eternal spray of rain he was thirsty, and no matter how much time went by, he felt nothing but pain. He had resorted to anything and everything he could imagine yet the pain lingered, coiled like wire around his beating heart.

He felt madness invade his mind, insanity corrupt his thoughts but he refused to believe he had struck so low. Before her, heartbreaks had been nothing but myths and legends, recounted to him by a source that wasn’t his heart. Now, as he lived through one, he felt lost and at his pain’s mercy. He wanted to laugh, mock that naive part of himself that lived someplace in the past, tucked away within the sweet arms of bliss, but even mirthless laughter was lost to him.

Aware that she was inside, he closed his eyes trying to picture what she could be doing. In his imagination --or was it a memory?-- she’d be waiting for him to come to her after a long day in uni, lying on her side with her hands between her thighs. The bedroom would smell of her, be filled with her soft purrs and throaty moans. It was his utmost pleasure to find her touching herself, knowing very well she thought of him while doing so. She’d have a lewd smile plastered on her face as her eyes beckoned him to come closer and claim her.

He’d cage her beneath his bigger frame, pinning her against the pillows and kissing the length of her body until she screamed nothing but his name. He’d lavish attention on her nipples first and then her core, sending her to a frenzy not even her hands upon herself could, leaving her skin covered in goosebumps, her limbs numb, her hair mussed, her whimpers a litany of curses.

At the deafening sound of echoing thunder, he opened his eyes and focused on the rain lest his groin kept tightening as he stood in the open, in the middle of the street. He could feel a pair of eyes fixed on him and he chided himself for letting the soothing effect such memories evoked, sway him into oblivion.

The tingling sensation of being observed did not fade, prompting him to unwillingly raise his head to encounter judicious and questioning eyes.

It was Her.

The pair of offended eyes belonged to her.

She held the curtain aside with one hand, using the other as support against the wall. Her silky, platinum curls were loose, framing her delicate face perfectly. Too much beauty hurt his eyes as did the terrible familiarity it held. How many times had he lost himself in the endless depth of her violet seas, in the unchanging softness of her milky skin?

Her expression revealed nothing save for the quick flash of disgust he had seen when he dared lift his eyes in her direction. He wondered what had provokd such a feeling. His presence, perhaps, in front of her home with no apparent motive; his very own existence most likely, with no apparent motive either.

In a swift move, she let the curtain fall back into place and stood away from the window, accentuating the feeling of dryness --emptiness-- he’d felt for so long he’d almost got used to it.

However, he couldn’t help to feel a spark of happiness as well, having had the chance to catch a glimpse of her gloriousness.

He thought back to the day he first met her.

It had been a rainy day as well, now that he reflected, worse than this one. Thinking back, most of the days they had shared important moments, rain had been a witness. ‘Stormborn’ she was called, and he deemed it poetic that rain was her steadfast accomplice.

Looking up at the sky, he questioned what rain could possibly mean today; for him, for her, for them.

His eyes went back to her window, anxiously wishing for another glimpse of her face, but it never came. The building was now covered by the dark veil of night, its shadow hunting him with its enormity as he was encased beneath the light of the street lanterns.

Yet, the building had ceased to irk him after facing her. It dawned on him the monstrosity of the building she called home had never made itself present before, because next to her, it passed unaverted. With her by his side, his eyes had never focused on it, only her. He remembered how much she adored that building, for the very same reasons he claimed to loathe it now. For her, it was a reminder of something that should never happen again, and thus it served a grand purpose.

She always had something positive to say about anything, including the hideous structure and, begrudgingly, he found sense in it.

The brief moment of understanding turned sour when he concentrated on that particular ability of hers. If she could see the positive in everything, then why had she stopped seeing the good in their relationship?

An irrational drive took over him, stirring his legs to move forward and cross the street. He’d make her spill it, tell him what were the reasons they couldn’t be together. He had allowed an entire year to go without any explanation, but now he wouldn’t let another second go by without demanding reasons, not made up excuses.

With slippery fingers, he took out the keys from his pocket and proceeded to search for the main entrance. She had not asked for them after the breakup, and he had not offered them up.

Clumsily, he managed to open the door to the building, rushing up the stairs as fast as he could, leaving a stream of water in his wake. Five floors were not a challenge after holing up in the gym to try an avoid suicidal and murderous thoughts ever since their parting.

Inside the building, sheltered by its roof and heat he could now feel the uncomfortable sensation of water running down his body, and clothes adhered to his skin. The squealing sound of his trainers against the floor was utterly obnoxious.

As the fifth corridor appeared before his eyes, he couldn’t believe he had actually driven all the way across town, then around the area eighty times until he’d found a parking spot and later wandered down her lane to stand before her building for hours under pouring rain. Even less so that he had entered said building and was now heading to flat 505.

The familiar metallic numbers hanging over the old wooden door of patchy white beckoned him with their cheap golden colour, eliciting further memories of a past shared together. It felt as if a century had gone by since he’d last been there.

His breathing became ragged as the numbers grew with each step he took towards them.

He was battling himself the closer he got to the white door. A part of him wanted nothing but to turn and run, leaving behind the past he craved but knew was not possible, the other pushed him forward, convincing him that everything would be better if he just gathered the courage to talk to her.

When she had broken up with him, he had not uttered a single word, too confounded and heartbroken to form coherent thoughts.

The latter won.

About to ring the bell --thinking he had already crossed a line barging into the building without her consent-- the door to 505 opened brusquely, revealing a dim lit flat and a perfectly poised woman. It was comical, almost.

She, as usual, was the image of perfection.

His state was poor at best; clothes soaked, hair stuck to skin,  a puddle forming beneath his feet.

However, in that precise moment, it was as if more than a year had not passed. Everything screamed familiarity.

“Dany,” he greeted, voice raspy and stuttery. The sound had almost got stuck in his dry throat.

A flinch crossed her features so lightly it almost went unnoticed.

She said nothing, resolutely standing under the frame of the door. Her eyes were void of emotion, focused anywhere but him, and he inwardly fired curses at her obnoxious composure.

By the third time he addressed her and got nothing in reply, his hand moved impatiently to her chin and lifted it up to make her look at him.

Whipping her eyes at him with disdain, she winced at the contact and tried to rebel against it, but he wouldn’t allow it and the world stopped.

The storm halted, the building's musky scent died, any other sign of life vanished. It was only them.

But then she averted his eyes, looking down with sagged shoulders as erratic shudders shook her body, and streams of salty water ran down her otherworldly features, landing on his hand.

The ire and resentment he'd harboured abruptly ceased to subsist, replaced by longing and the unwavering adoration he would profess her eternally. It couldn't be helped, the way in which he crumbled when she cried. He could resist the cruellest of punishments, the worst of sentences, but not her tears.

Following his instinct, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his embrace with all the strength he possessed, shelling her from the crude reality of their world.

She helplessly sobbed within his arms, her head buried on his chest as he mussed her curls and kissed her temple, her lavender scent assailing his senses, and her silky mane tickling his skin.

To feel her close ignited his long lost desire to live anew.

Slowly, she untangled herself from his arms, seeking his lips, hand falling upon his stubbly cheek.

Pressing her forehead against his, he could feel her breath on him, evermore intoxicating and alluring. Her sobs had subsided but he could still look at himself reflected on her watery mirrors. Her cheeks were tainted of black mascara and her face was flushed a light red.

Their mouths were so close he could already feel her chapped lips, as dry as his, and eager to be kissed.

He came closer, shortening the distance that held them apart, grazing flesh with flesh--

The phone in her left hand buzzed, interrupting the moment with its harsh electronic vibration and the signal flash of light. The magic was lost.

Bothered, he cursed the caller, wishing whoever it was an unbearable trip with no return to the seventh hell. Glancing down, he observed his father’s name shining on the screen with bright letters and felt a curse served the man well, though it fell short to describe his contempt.

She appeared both torn and relieved and he didn’t know which one bothered him more.

To all the hells with everybody. It seemed --once again-- she had greeted him only to wish him goodbye. She had not planned on anything other than tossing greater pain and sorrow at his feet.

To all the hells with her, too.

Enraged, he turned around and started walking down the corridor, shame flooding his veins. His stomach churned and his ears buzzed as he tried to detain the tears that pricked his eyes as they demanded exit, cursing over and over again the moment he had decided to climb up the stairs and present himself before her door.

“Jon!” She called painfully, just when he was about to take the first step down the stairs, making him freeze and curse himself for the hope he allowed to fill his body at the sound of her voice, somewhat muffled by the renewed strength of the downpour. “Don’t go… Please don’t go.”

He moved to face her as she turned off her phone and ended with its wretched buzz without answering her brother.

She didn't cry anymore.

She smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> Ooohhhhhh so that's why. *sheepishly smiles* 
> 
> I don't even know what to write here. 
> 
> Did you see it coming? Did you likey? Maybe notttt???
> 
> *is super expectant*
> 
> Please let me know your thoughts! They mean the world to me!
> 
> Yours gratefully, Val. <3<3<3


End file.
